


Countdown

by Sterek_ed (Thorki_ed)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, M/M, READ THE ARCHIVE WARNINGS PEOPLE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2018-01-20 09:04:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1504619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thorki_ed/pseuds/Sterek_ed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Stiles watches in agony as the countdown on his wrist changes on him, time and time again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! I haven't really written a lot of Teen Wolf, so feedback and comments/kudos are appreciated! <3 And I love meeting new people so if you drop by [sterek--smut](http://sterek--smut.tumblr.com), feel free to send a message or something! :3
> 
> I've fiddled around with the timeline of their stories, so I hope you're all okay with that. I didn't complicate things with the Lydia/Stiles thing and I'm sorry. Enjoy! The next chapter will be posted shortly as I'm already working on it!

Stiles remembered all the other kids talking about it, the funny numbers on their wrists. Some of them knew – hell some of them had already found each other. He remembered the teachers doing their best to educate them, his dad always saying ‘when you’re old enough to understand’. He remembered how his dad’s had counted down to the day his mother passed away, and how hers had never returned after they met. He remembered running his fingers over her wrist where they used to be, feeling the slightly raised bumps of flesh as if he’d been reading braille. His dad’s countdown never came back after that either.

He remembered all the times his had changed, how scared he had been, wondering what that mean.

For a long time growing up, the number has always been huge – in the thousands. Around the midway point of eighth grade, the number had finally reached 200. He would meet his soul mate in exactly two hundred days. He didn’t know what to make of it, and what surprised him more was that Scott’s had read almost the same number, just a few hours ahead.

_“You know what this means, right?”_

_“Yeah, first day of high school…”_

Scott had been ecstatic, Stiles had been more nervous than anything. But that was because Scott had kept wondering what she would look like – if she would be blonde, brunette, short or tall, what colour her eyes would be, and how long her legs would look… But none of that appealed to Stiles. Seeing his best friend wonder and get so excited, he wondered if there was something wrong with him.

His worry only grew when he woke up one morning and the numbers had jumped again. Stiles blinked rapidly, staring at the numbers and hoping it wasn’t true.

A thousand, five hundred, and fifty-four days.

He felt his heart sink as he scrambled to the calculator and calendar. There was no way he could wait that long to meet someone when it felt like he had known about them his whole life. Why, why had it jumped so high when it had been only 200 just the other day? Had he done something? He remembered the conversation with Scott – did the universe figure it out? That he wasn’t interested in some model-perfect girl like Scott was? Could the universe change your soul mate if you asked for a different gender?

After his calculations, it dawned on him that the countdown would lead him to the middle of June, _after his high school graduation._ Stiles groaned, frustrated that this would happen to him. He texted Scott, asking what his countdown was at and to his dismay, Scott’s now read 199:20:14:02.

He despaired, but got ready for school nonetheless. The sooner he left elementary school, the closer he would be to the end of high school, right?

 

\-----

 

 The first day of high school was approaching. Stiles couldn’t help but be bitter as he looked down at his wrist – still in the thousands. It _should_ have read 1. One day.  He tried to take his mind off of it by eavesdropping on his father, since he knew something big must have turned up. He’d never seen his dad so flustered.

“Cut in _half?_ ” He can hear the disbelief in his father’s voice, for good reason. Resisting the curiosity wasn't in Stiles’ nature, and as he grabbed his bat, he headed over to Scott’s house.

 

\-----

 

“Like, a dead body?”

“No, a body of water,” Stiles said sarcastically. Seriously, what the hell went through Scott’s mind sometimes? “YES, a dead body!” he said frantically, trying to get Scott to hurry up.

“Stiles, I’m not walking into the woods where people are hacking bodies in half, my countdown is finally in the hours! _Hours,_ Stiles.”

He rolled his eyes before showing Scott his countdown. “And mine’s gone back to being in years, Scott.” There was definitely a pleading voice behind it, but he needed this desperately. Scott, knowing it was probably driving Stiles crazy, reluctantly agreed.

“Let me grab my inhaler then,” he mumbled, but smiled when he saw his friend beaming at him.

The night hadn’t exactly gone as he had wanted it to, but he texted Scott to make sure he was okay. He didn’t like being separated from his friend considering he was all Stiles had since his mystery mate was 1356 days away. He tossed and turned that night, thinking about his mate, what he/she was thinking.

 

\-----

 

The first day of school proved eventful. Stiles had actually been distracted enough by Scott’s discovery last night that he didn’t look at his countdown for the entire morning.

“Do you know who it is?” Stiles wondered.

Scott shook his head. “Not familiar to me… I didn’t even take a good look at it, Stiles, I was scared out of my mind.” 

As they walked to English, he noticed Scott perked up and looked over at the door. There was a tall brunette with bright brown eyes and legs that went on for miles. Stiles looked down at Scott’s wrist, where a miniscule minute was shown before heading into the seconds.

She took a seat directly behind Scott, who offered her a pen the moment his countdown struck 0. Stiles felt a pang of envy. He couldn’t help but think that in a few hours, he should have met his soul mate too, before something had changed that. He glanced down at his wrist, and to his surprise, the numbers had dwindled to practically nothing. His eyes widened in disbelief.

_01:06:45:36_

He would meet his mate tomorrow.

 

\-----

 

The jittering didn’t stop, even with the Adderall. His heart threatened to explode all day as he watched the clock hands tick rather than listen to the professors.

_00:01:41:09_

He had to get through his last class, and then head straight home to cook dinner for his dad, who was working a late shift. The last bell couldn’t ring fast enough. Scott bid him good luck, hands entwined with Allison’s.

He tried his hardest not to look down at his wrist, but even as the deep red numbers maintained their steady countdown, he felt like he couldn’t breathe. They’ve changed on him before, there’s no telling if they’ll change on him now. He was packed and ready to go, with less than an hour left to go. He drove as steadily as he could, even though his whole body was thrumming with energy.

His dad was expecting him, and he greeted Stiles along with everyone at the station. It was really a whole family at the sheriff’s department. The sheriff was complaining about something or the other as he opened the lid to the Tupperware container. Stiles spent ten minutes scolding his dad about eating healthy much to the amusement of the other deputies.

“Alright, alright,” his dad said, finally giving up. “Let me just tidy up the office before you come in,” he said. He liked having dinner with his dad, especially when he looked so worn out. Memories of his mother caring for him came back, solidifying his determination to make his dad’s life as easy as he could.

“How is everything, dear?” one of the deputies asked.

Stiles tried to smile. “I’m alright, Kara. Just… worried about this whole countdown thing as usual.”

Kara gave him a sympathetic smile. “I know how it gets. Sometimes I think we’d be better off not knowing.”

Stiles was about to reply, but as he lifted his hand to show her the time, he saw the seconds diminish to zero and the door of the station open.

He didn’t dare look, his heart thumping loudly in his chest.

Kara turned to the stranger – _to Stiles’ mate_ – and asked, “Hi there, can I help you?”

A gruff voice came from beside him. “I was called down about my sister’s murder. Her name was Laura Hale,” he added, his voice sounding strained.

Stiles forced himself to breathe, and memorize that voice forever.

_00:00:00:00_

This was real, this was happening, this was the moment Stiles had been so anxious for. He turned, slowly. From the side, the man looked like a model. His hair was short, but spiked up even though Stiles didn’t see any obvious signs of hair product (thank god). His jawline looked like it was chiseled from stone, and Stiles’ eyes wandered down the expanse of his neck to the leather jacket draped over his broad shoulders. Everything about him was dark: his hair, his clothing, his neat facial hair. At that moment, he turned to face Stiles, who was fully gaping at him.

He went to speak but Stiles just lifted his wrist to show him the countdown. He saw realization in the man’s jade-green eyes before he too looked down at his wrist, pulling the leather sleeve up.

_00:00:00:00_

The spark was instant, and it was like the wind had been sucked out of the station. Everyone stared, witnessing the universe at work. It was incredible to see.

He heard his dad’s awkward cough before snapping back to reality.

“You must be Derek,” the sheriff said.

The man nodded slowly, glancing back between Stiles and the sheriff.

 _Derek_. It sounded right. Like he was asking the fates if this was meant to be and receiving some celestial response.

“Why don’t we talk over dinner,” the sheriff said, corralling them out of the station.

“But –” Stiles began to protest.

“Already in the fridge for tomorrow,” the sheriff replied.

 

\-----

 

He watched Derek pick at his food with discomfort. His father was going over details of the case, which Stiles knew he shouldn’t be allowed to hear, but he guessed his father knew he was going to find out one way or another. The introductions went as smoothly as one could hope and the small chat got Stiles to finally remember that his mouth worked.

“So, Derek, what have you been up to since…”

Derek shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “My sister and I moved to New York after the fire.”

“You know, your uncle was released from the hospital just a few months ago. The burns have done some damage, but he should be okay.”

Derek nodded in acknowledgement. “My sister told me she was coming back to visit him. If he was well enough, she was going to fly him out to live in New York with us.”

His dad nodded. “I’m sorry about what happened to your sister,” he said genuinely. “And your family. We’ve re-opened to investigation on that fire.”

“Thank you,” Derek said quietly, his eyes not looking up from his food.

Something compelled Stiles to reach out timidly across the table and rest his hand on Derek’s wrist – the wrist that once dictated when they would meet. It was like an electric touch when their skin met; Stiles with his ever-freezing fingertips and Derek, whose skin seemed as warm as the sun.

“Ah, yes. These other matters,” Sheriff Stilinski noted, eyes zeroed in on their skin-to-skin contact. “Stiles, I once told you we’d talk about it when you were old enough to understand, but I know you already know most of it.”

The young boy nodded.

“But… You’re only sixteen, and you’ve got your life ahead of you, so just be patient and understanding. Don’t rush into anything,” he said with a pointed stare at Derek. “And don’t be afraid to ask questions.”

“Dad,” Stiles said, sinking a little in his seat of embarrassment. He hadn’t pictured this to be the first few hours of this wonderful, magical journey that was supposed to the meeting of his soul mate.

“I know, I’m letting you get to it,” his dad said, rising out of his seat. “Why don’t you grab some dessert and I’ll see you at home later. It was nice to meet you Derek, though I wish we had done it under better circumstances.”

“Thank you, sir,” Derek responded, standing as a sign of respect to shake the sheriff’s hand.

“I’m sure I’ll see you around,” he said with an amused smile, taking Derek’s hand in a firm shake. He placed some money on the table to cover the meal and dessert, leaving Derek and Stiles to finally talk.

It was more awkward than Stiles had imagined, mostly because Derek wasn’t very chatty. He talked about the incident in eighth grade and how frustrated he’d been about the numbers skyrocketing, though he was guessing now it was because Derek had no intention of returning to Beacon Hills after the fire. He asked about Derek’s time in New York, though.

“It wasn’t anything special. I grew closer to my older sister since we were at school when the fire happened; we knew we were basically on our own.”

“What did you do the whole time?”

Derek gave him a funny look, like the answer was obvious. “I finished high school.”

Stiles blushed. _Right. School._

They did end up ordering dessert and chatting a bit more – mostly Stiles, but Derek listened pretty well, nodding, agreeing, disagreeing, asking questions about things he wasn’t clear on. It made Stiles relax a lot more, but there was still a gnawing feeling.

“So, Derek…”

He didn’t exactly get a response, but the eyes peered curiously at him as a perfect, thick eyebrow peaked.

“I just… I’ve waited so long for this moment,” Stiles blurted out. It was the truth, he couldn’t help it. “I mean, it’s just, the thing kept changing on me and I didn’t know what that meant. Seriously, I had some doubts about _ever_ meeting you. I’ve been wondering what you look like for _years._ ”

A smile tugged at Derek’s lips. “Disappointed?”

Stiles’ mouth dropped open. “Dis - What?! How on earth can I be disappointed with... With all _this,”_ he said, gesturing up and down Derek’s body with his hand. “And how my dad’s already basically approved of you and how you were all _‘sir’_ this and _‘sir’_ that.” He was suddenly hit with a wave of self-consciousness. “Um. I guess you weren’t really expecting all _this_ ,” he added quietly, gesturing to himself.

Derek cocked his head and continued to stare at him with those ridiculous green eyes. “I hardly know you, Stiles. But what I see is someone who could talk for ages to fill my silences, and someone who’s not afraid to take chances.”

Stiles smiled a bit at that.

“I see someone a lot like who I want to be, but can’t,” Derek said softly. Stiles knew that was a whole different chapter, but he was sure Derek needed rest at some point. Not everyone ran on four hours like he did.

“How long are you going to be in town?” Stiles asked, afraid of the answer.

“A couple weeks at the very least, the investigation will take a while and they want me to be easily contactable,” Derek said. His eyes flickered up to meet Stiles’. “But my plans aren’t concrete.”

Stiles wasn’t sure if that meant he was staying longer or leaving earlier but he nodded like he understood.

“Would you like to do this again, sometime?” Stiles asked bravely. He had, after all, went through torturous years of waiting for this guy, he wasn’t about to let him slip away.

“Yeah, sure,” Derek said, taking out his cell phone. He offered it to Stiles to input his number while Derek took his to do the same.

“I guess you should be calling it a night,” Derek said, glancing outside the window into the dark of the night. “School tomorrow?”

Stiles blushed as he was reminded how young he was compared to Derek. “Yeah. I guess.”

They left the money on the counter before heading outside into the crisp Autumn air. “Whereabouts are you staying, I could give you a lift?” Stiles offered as they walked back to the Sheriff’s department, where Stiles had left his jeep.

“I’ve rented a loft off uptown,” Derek answers. “Just by State Route 32.”

“Come on, I’ll give you a lift,” Stiles said, opening the passenger door for Derek before walking to the other side.

The drive was mostly in comfortable silence, though he could feel Derek was opening up just a bit more. They arranged to meet again in three days, where Derek would make them dinner at his place. Stiles was beyond excited, he could see why Scott was so infatuated now. There was something elating about knowing that this was the person you were going to spend the rest of your life with.

 

\-----

 

“This is amazing,” Stiles practically moaned. The shrimp capellini melted in his mouth, and Derek smiled across the small table. His loft didn’t have much in it, which didn’t surprise Stiles. There were two mattresses stacked in the corner, and a chest at the foot of the bed. A simple lamp had been put on the bedside table and a few books were strewn across the table looking out the window, where his laptop was also set up.

The talked for hours upon hours, and Stiles noticed that Derek was contributing a lot more to conversation. He now knew that Laura wanted Derek to go the Baccalaureate School for Global Education but Derek’s love for basketball and baseball let him to Bayside High School where he ended up on the football and cross country teams too. He had joined the Advanced Placement program to please Laura, and ended up getting a job at the local library to help with rent. Stiles was amazed – who wouldn’t be? Derek was made up in some way, he _had_ to be. He knew it was young and oh so naive to think he was in love, but Derek, for all his brooding, was genuine and selfless. Stiles life seemed relatively unimpressive, but he answered all the questions Derek had asked, and even ended up telling Derek about his mother.

It led to Derek opening up about his family. He spoke fondly of his mother, Talia, who took in foster children, one of which had been in the fire. His younger siblings had the day off school, but Derek and Laura were the only ones in high school at the time, so they still had class. His uncle, Peter, was the only one to survive the fire, and had barely escaped with third degree burns on half his body. Laura had put him in a physiotherapy program at the hospital, where Scott’s mom worked. Stiles felt an incredible sadness for Derek, especially knowing that Laura was now on the list of family members he had lost. He only hoped that Peter could provide some sort of solace.

“I haven’t heard from him…The hospital called Laura and told him he had been released but he had left strict instructions not to tell anyone where he was going. He was probably paranoid after the fire, thinking they could come back to… finish the job.”

After a moment of silence, Stiles asked him if she ever found Peter. Derek shook his head.

“She called a few times to leave information. The last I heard she had come close, said the barista at a downtown coffee shop recognized the description and photo Laura had showed him.”

“He must be downtown then,” Stiles reassured. “You’ll find him.”

Derek nodded absentmindedly as the hours slipped by.

\-----

It had been almost two months now since he had met Derek at the police station. The investigation into his sister’s murder was still unsolved and he and Stiles had grown so much closer, so Derek decided to stay. He had been working as a consultant for a private security firm, but the CEO had made arrangements for his to work from Beacon Hills. It just basically involved a lot of e-mailing, and occasional Skype calls that Stiles had to lock himself upstairs sometimes to keep himself from interrupting. Also because Derek’s professional voice got him all hot and bothered.

He couldn’t help himself, he was a hormonal teenager who had accidentally/purposely walked in on Derek stepping out of the shower a few too many times. He’d also been practicing on his making objects bend to his will in hopes that he could magically remove the fluffy white towel from Derek’s waist one day. It hadn’t happened yet, but it would.

He remembered _everything_ about their first kiss, after their fourth “date” where he had joked and called Derek a prude. The man had rolled his eyes but captured Stiles’ lips for another moment, and Stiles had let his hand run over the hard muscles underneath Derek’s thin Henley. He _especially_ remembered the way Derek _pulled away_ even though he was achingly hard. When he made a point about it, trying to  drag Derek’s body back to his, he received a small huff from Derek instead. “We don’t have to rush,” he reminded Stiles with a small smile. It was comforting, to know Derek planned on spending more time with him _but like -_

Derek’s concern for his virtue was seriously going to be the death of him.

“Stiles!” Derek called from downstairs, which had the boy practically flying down the spiral staircase.

He jumped in Derek’s lap playfully, knowing Derek could handle it. He felt the scruff of Derek’s beard as the man placed a kiss on his neck. “Let’s try that new restaurant?”

Stiles nodded, growing more comfortable with people seeing them together. The age must have really thrown people off but he could hear whispers and the occasion ‘ _isn’t that the Sheriff’s boy?’_ which irked him more because dragging his dad into this was the last thing he wanted. When he mentioned it to his dad, the man outright _guffawed._ “Son, do you really think people are dumb enough to approach me about my son, when I’ve made it very clear that I support him and I’ve got a licensed firearm?”

He grabbed his jacket and scarf, the keys to his jeep jingling in his hand. Derek mentioned making things a bit more permanent, since it didn’t look like he’d be leaving anytime soon, so he had bought a car, though he wouldn’t tell Stiles what kind until it arrived.

“Nothing’s gonna beat Roscoe,” he had said, earning an infamous Derek-Hale-eyebrow-lift, which he had strangely learned to love.

The restaurant, _Casa Mia,_ was beyond fantastic. Their capellini wasn’t at the Derek Hale standard though, which Stiles made a point to tell his mate. Derek rolled his eyes, but the compliment had its intended effect. He loved watching Derek try not to blush.

“So, can this be like, our go-to restaurant where we have date nights every month and eventually you’ll propose to me?” he joked. Derek laughed rather than say anything, but Stiles took that as a win. Derek’s laugh was slowly becoming less rare.

 

\-----

 

Eight months. They had been dating a whole eight months. In that time, a lot (and not enough) had happened. They still hadn't managed to track down Peter, who must be living under an alias seeing as even his dad couldn't find a trace of him in the system. Laura's murder was still unsolved, though they now had new leads on the model of the car Laura was last seen in. And Derek’s car finally arrived, making Stiles’ jaw _drop_ in awe. The sleek black Camaro definitely stuck out, and for a moment he thought of Roscoe weeping in the presence of the Camaro’s presence. He looked at Derek, who was fondly going over the details of his car and it was just _so fitting._ Dark, attention-demanding simply by existing, and sexy as hell.

See, you couldn’t tell which one Stiles was describing, could you?

They had also finally moved past just kissing, but Derek wasn’t comfortable with anything besides the handjobs and the one time he took Stiles in his mouth. It was _heaven_. Stiles tried to return the favour on several occasions but Derek, damn his strength, always pulled Stiles back up for a kiss before essentially pinning the boy to his chest. Stiles never got to complain because Derek always kept his mouth occupied at the first sign of whining. 

That particular night, Stiles lay on Derek’s chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Everything felt right – Scott and Allison were happy, Lydia and Jackson were happy, Danny and Ethan were happy, and it was like all his friends had paired up perfectly. None of them had their countdowns, and everyone was looking forward to the summer break, already making plans to see each other.

“Hey Derek?”

“Yeah, Stiles?”

“I know… I know you said you would stay as long as the investigation takes,” Stiles paused, hating himself for bringing it up. “But, what happens after?”

“I think I’ve already made a life here, Stiles.”

“What about your job?” He could feel Derek’s smile against the top of his head.

“Actually, I’ve been negotiating my contract with the company. He’s put me in touch with someone right here in Beacon Hills.”

“Really? Stiles said, perking up and wrestling with Derek’s arm to look him  in the eyes. “Who?”

“His name’s Chris Argent, he’s a private consultant and a licensed firearms dealer. Apparently he had connections to my boss, but they’ve both agreed that maybe my skills would better serve Beacon Hills for the time being, though I’ve always got a spot waiting for me in New York if I ever want to go back… If you ever want to come with me.”

It was music to Stiles’ ears. “So, you’re staying?”

“I’m staying,” Derek confirmed, nuzzling against Stiles’ neck.

Stiles tried to hide his smile but he stayed up most of the night just listening to that heartbeat.

 

\-----

 

The next morning, just when Stiles thought things couldn’t get any better, the skin on his wrist started to get irritated. When he looked down, his whole world came crashing down around him.

_25:00:14:56_

_25:00:14:55_

_25:00:14:54_

_25:00:14:53_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. <3
> 
> It's not too late to turn around and pretend the first chapter was all there is!

_No, no, no_ , _this can’t be happening._ Stiles rubbed at his wrist in frustration, but the numbers stayed, continuing to count down. His stomach heaved as he raced to the bathroom form the empty bed. Thinking about his mother and how broken his father had been, he felt tears sting the back of his eyes. Twenty-five days. That’s how much time he had before he would end up mourning like his dad, turning to whatever vices he could to dull the pain. Stiles ran the cold water with shaky hands, splashing some on his face as swallowed. He cupped his hands under the tap and lapped at the cold water, relieving his dry throat. _Derek_.

It was unfair, there wasn’t another word for it. The universe was toying with him. They held Derek so close before pulling him out of reach, then throwing him back in when Stiles was least expecting it and now they were threatening to take Derek away for good. He couldn’t let it happen.

Allison had once said she didn’t believe in fate – well, neither did Stiles. Not anymore. Everyone else seemed to be getting there happy endings, so _why_ couldn’t Stiles? Derek was perfect for him, perfect in every sense.

The time kept counting down.

_25:00:01:13_

Stiles was going to be sick. The nausea was overwhelming, and he dropped to his knees, clinging to the toilet. He dry heaved for what felt like an eternity, head spinning with thoughts that seemed to echo in his mind. So loudly so, that he hadn’t heard Derek come back from his morning run.

“Stiles?” he heard from the other side of the door. “Can I come in?”

The genuine, caring voice made Stiles even angrier. Of all the people to take away from this universe, why Derek? Derek, who cared more about everyone around him than himself, who didn’t allow himself any happiness for years and years? Derek, who finally opened up to someone after torturous loneliness?

“It’s okay, I’m fine,” Stiles barely managed to say. “Need the shower?”

“I can use the upstairs bathroom,” Derek offered. “But are you sure you’re okay? Can I get you anything?”

Stiles let out a quiet, bitter laugh. “No, really, I’m okay. Be out in a few.”

“Well, come get me if you need me,” Derek responded. Stiles listened to his footsteps shuffle away before turning back to the porcelain toilet. Derek had always been the rock in this relationship, it just always went unsaid. Stiles always thought of him as the embodiment of strength and survival, yet looking down at his wrist, he’d never see Derek as so vulnerable in his life. He promptly vomited.

_24:23:57:59_

_Please, don’t do this_ , he pleaded with whoever was listening.

_24:23:57:54_

 

\-----

 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Derek asked, breaking their silence.

“Yeah, why?” Stiles lied, careful to wear one of his long-sleeve plaid shirts to cover his wrist.

“You just seem awfully quiet, which I’m not used to,” Derek joked. Stiles loved it when Derek showed his playful side, joking and teasing, but he couldn’t even muster the energy to smile back. He felt awful, hiding it from Derek, but he couldn’t tell him. Not when Derek was smiling and laughing more often, determined to set up his life in Beacon Hills and actually enjoying living in the now.

“Honestly Stiles, what can I do to help?” Derek said, nuzzling the spot behind Stiles’ ear.

“I think I need some time alone,” Stiles blurted out. It was the first thing that came to mind. He needed to clear his head, to think this through, because _Derek_ was overwhelming, it was if his mere presence was clouding his judgement.

Derek fought to keep his face straight, even though Stiles could see the hurt in his eyes.

“Okay,” he said softly. “Stiles, did I do something?”

It absolutely gutted him, turning away, rejecting the affection and care that Derek was offering. The amber flecks in his eyes were so warm and inviting, Stiles wanted to drown in them and stay forever. But he knew he couldn’t.

He sighed, relenting just the slightest. “Trust me, Derek, it’s not you. You didn’t do anything I just… I just got a little homesick, and I’m worried about my dad is all.” He felt awful for lying through his teeth, and the feeling only got worse when Derek gave him a sympathetic smile. He got up from his seat to walk Stiles to the door. Embracing Stiles and kissing him softly on the cheek, he made the boy promise to text him later, to which Stiles could only nod before heading out the door.

He drove home, ignoring every road sign. He blamed the welling tears in eyes. _Unfair, unfair, fuck you universe._

The first thing the sheriff noticed was the Stiles slammed the door to his precious jeep loud enough to wake coma patients up. The next thing he noticed was the Stiles had difficulty getting his key into the keyhole – enough so that he sighed and got up from the sofa to help his son.

“Stiles, I –” the jeer died in his throat. Stiles’ hand was shaking so badly, it was no wonder he couldn’t get the key in. And the fact that it wasn’t the house key he had out.

“Son?” the Sheriff asked hesitantly, looking over the redness of Stiles’ eyes and dampness of the sleeves on Stiles’ shirt. Stiles gulped, lower lip quivering, but still not looking his dad in the eyes.

“Dad,” he croaked, stepping in the house like a zombie.

“Come here, son. What’s wrong?”

Stiles let himself be steered to the living room sofa, barely able to contain his emotions. The whirling anger, frustration and fear felt like a hurricane threatening to rip him apart at any second. His dad was peering at him with curious, but concerned, eyes. He didn’t know how to tell him, didn’t know what to do at all. He settled for rolling up his sleeve instead.

“Oh Stiles…”

He felt his dad’s burly arms wrap around his frame and pull him in close. The tears came unannounced, making a dark pool on his dad’s shirt. At that point, he let it all go. His story came out in bits and pieces, telling his dad about how well Derek was doing, how it was looking up for them, how Stiles finally felt like he was whole, all among a litany of curses against the fates and how he thought it was garbage. He ran out of air, literally. The panic attack hit him so hard he thought he was going to lose consciousness; the spastic breathing was making his head spin.

It took over an hour and a half for his dad to calm him down and rock him gently until Stiles regained a grip on reality. It settled in, at last, that he had to find a way to stop the universe from taking what was his.

“I can’t do it, Dad. I’m not losing him.”

“I know, son,” his dad offered. He didn’t let go of his son, didn’t let Stiles see his face. He thought about Claudia, about his own countdown. He was working a case that night, trying to save a woman’s life while she was trapped underneath the car. It was his duty to standby, but she said to him “if you want to see her, go now.” He didn’t believe her at the time, how could she know? The last time he had checked, there was still over 20 hours on it, and he was sure that had only been about five hours ago. His left hand was holding the victim’s, providing her with comfort, the clock hidden beneath the deputy jacket he wore. No, she couldn’t know. When she took her last breath and the crew said there was nothing else he, or any of them, could do, he reluctantly let go. He rolled up his jacket sleeve, and the countdown was gone. He would never forget the feeling of pure dread as he raced to the hospital. Stiles was sitting in the waiting room, head buried in his hands, shoulders shaking. He remembered the he kept thinking to himself, _this can’t be right_ , but when he reached Stiles, his son’s face said it all. Claudia was gone, and he hadn’t been with her. He took the smallest comfort in knowing she had Stiles there, at the very least, but he never forgave himself. Stiles said there was a complication, and they had to resuscitate her, which meant it had probably shaved off some hours. The woman in the car must have seen the blip in time if his sleeve had somehow ridden up his arm.

He looked down at Stiles, asleep from exhaustion, and vowed to help his son through this. He knew that the loss of Claudia was too much to handle, but losing a mate was like losing a part of yourself, and he knew that feeling too well.

“Oh Stiles,” he repeated softly, his heart aching for his son. He stayed with him until the sun set, letting his hand run through the soft strands of Stiles’ hair, wondering how his young son could be tested so harshly by the fates.

 

\-----

 

From: **Derek  
** _Stiles? Are you alright?_

To: **Derek  
** _Yeah, sorry I didn’t text earlier. Hanging out with my dad. Just need a few days._

From: **Derek  
** _Of course. Just wanted to let you know I met with Argent and finalized my contract today. Have a good time with your dad, can I call you later?_

To: **Derek  
** _That’s awesome! Not that I had doubts of course. And I’ll have to text you later. Might be going out._

Everything was a lie. And it was much easier to lie through text than it was in person. He couldn’t be enthusiastic for Derek because the counting numbers had seared their way into his brain.

_24:11:42:18_

He knew that time was slipping through his fingers, but he had to tell Derek, right? He had to. He almost called Derek when he thought about what Kara had said at the station.

_“Sometimes, I think we’d be better off not knowing.”_

He groaned. It was true – he was about to agree with her before Derek had walked into his life. His heart skipped a beat as he remembered the first time he laid eyes on Derek. In that moment, he was glad he didn’t agree with Kara, because he _could not_ imagine not knowing that Derek was his. But this was different. He tried to think of it from Derek’s perspective. Would he want to know?

Putting himself in Derek’s shoes, he imagined the scenario. Derek telling him he only had 24 days left to live. Stiles thought about what he would say, how he would react. Honestly, he didn’t know. Maybe he’d be angry, because he’d just found out the meaning of true happiness. Maybe he’d just be sad for the next 24 days, clinging to Derek. Maybe he’d be grateful because it gave him a chance to say goodbye to everyone? He remembered how heartbroken his dad was for not being there at the time of his mom’s passing. But who did Derek have? His family was taken from him by an arsonist, as it turned out. His older sister murdered. His uncle was still MIA.

_Me._

He had to do something. He had to tell Derek. And he had to be there for him, to ride through the storm together.

 

\-----

 

He saw that the Camaro was parked in Derek’s space as he parked in the guest slots close by. It had taken him two days to work it out in his mind, but repeated the speech he prepared over and over again.

When he finally knocked on door of Derek’s loft, he heard shuffling followed by Derek’s voice.

“Just a second!”

Stiles thought it had to be impossible for someone’s voice to affect him like this - the overwhelming guilt from keeping it a secret made Stiles sick.

_22:21:41:27_

Derek’s face lit up, making Stiles ashamed of himself. “Stiles.”

“Hey Der,” he said, quietly but affectionately, embracing the warmth of Derek’s embrace.

“How’s everything with your father?” he asked politely.

Stiles waved it off. “It’s… Fine. Just, I haven’t been completely honest with you, and I need to tell you something.”

Derek’s face fell, and it made Stiles’ heart shatter into bits and pieces. He couldn’t do it – he was backing out. No. He couldn’t.

But he really, really wanted to. He tried to remember the speech, but his tongue felt like lead.

“Is it… Someone else?” Derek prodded, body guarded and tense, face growing stormy.

And Stiles couldn’t help it then, the twisted laugh erupted from his mouth, powered by the burning in his chest. “God, no.”

Derek visible relaxed, shoulders dropping and jaw loosening. “Then what is it?” he asked, more lightly this time.

“Come, sit with me, please.” He knew his voice was scratchy and probably sounded terrible, but he tugged at Derek’s hand, immensely glad that he hadn’t put up a fight. Even as they were seated, Stiles could barely force the words out.

He appreciated that Derek never pushed him, just sat with his arm around Stiles as the younger boy felt his heard thud against Derek’s side. It could have been minutes or hours, but Stiles finally swallowed before looking at Derek with teary eyes.

“I have to show you something,” he whispered. Derek nodded, his arm never leaving Stiles.

With trembling fingers, Stiles rolled up the sleeve of his sweater.

  _22:21:09:43_

Derek’s eyebrows came together in confusion before the understanding settled in. Derek blinked, face unreadable. Stiles flung himself into Derek, wrapping his arms around Derek’s neck as tightly as possible.

“I’m so, so sorry,” Stiles mumbled against Derek’s neck. “I… didn’t know how to tell you.”

 “It’s okay,” came a hoarse whisper. Stiles pulled back to see the glistening of pooling tears in Derek’s eyes. He’d never seen Derek cry, and yet here he was, the green in his eyes almost crystal-like through the shine.

“Der…”

“It’s okay,” he repeated. “It’s okay.” At this point Stiles wasn’t sure if it was to convince Stiles or himself.

But he was angry. Stiles opened his mouth to argue, to shout, that it _wasn’t_ okay. He wanted to scream at Derek for not being angry, for not fighting – wasn’t this _worth fighting for?_ He wanted to beat Derek in the head for just _accepting_ it. For rolling over like a dog. Stiles could fucking punch him, but turned away instead.

“Stiles.”

He couldn’t stand Derek'ss voice, so calm, so small. He’d always been strong, the strongest person Stiles knew besides his father, always a fighter, always a planner.

So yeah, he really wanted to punch Derek.

He felt the scrape of stubble across the back of his neck and a soft kiss behind his ear.

Stiles crumbled. He didn’t actually want to punch Derek, he didn’t want to do anything to Derek but hold him close for as long as possible. For the remaining twenty-two days and some odd hours. All of it.

“Derek, I don’t know what I’m going to do without you,” he finally admitted, the fear evident in his voice.

“Cross that bridge when it comes to it,” Derek mumbled against his skin. “For now, come to bed with me.”

It was a small comfort that Stiles could give Derek. To hold, to be held, whatever it was that Derek needed – physical contact, human warmth, to feel connected. They laid for hours, and Stiles struggled through the conversation because Derek was taking this so calmly, it almost hurt.

“Aren’t you afraid?” he finally asked.

There a long pause where Derek trailed his fingers up and down Stiles’ spine before he finally answered. “No.”

“But –”

“I have you,” Derek simply stated, as if that was the answer to all of Stiles’ questions. It wasn’t. At all. But he let it slide as Derek pulled his chin up for a long, languid kiss.

_22:17:34:15_

He’ll pretend, for Derek’s sake, because he can’t take the pleading in Derek’s eyes.

\-----

 

The days are hard, Stiles feels sluggish as limbs become as heavy as his heart. He’s with Derek almost every hour of the day unless he’s at school or Derek’s at a meeting at Argent’s. He knows Derek wanted to continue living his life – it circled back to why he came in the first place. The car that Laura was last seen in led to a fake name, and the coffee shop reported Peter never returned. It never stopped Derek. Nothing stops Derek.

_00:12:14:20_

It’s his last night with Derek, and it doesn’t matter how much Derek smiles at him or kisses him because there’s a huge hole in his heart that’s been forming for the last 588 hours, give or take a few minutes. He can’t stop thinking, can’t stop counting and calculating.

“Derek,” he whispers. He knows Derek’s awake considering there’s a thumb massaging his back between his shoulder blades.

“Mmm,” came a lazy response.

“You’re not falling asleep on me, are you?”

“’Course not,” Derek mumbles into the top of Stiles’ hair. His voice is thick with exhaustion, and Stiles couldn’t really blame him. They had spent every waking moment together and it hadn’t been enough, they were driving themselves to stay awake to spend more time with one another.

“Derek,” his voice pleading.

“Mmm?”

“Can I ask you for one more thing?” Stiles knows he’s asked for a lot, needing all that Derek has to give – maybe more. He’s drained them both and yet Derek just gives and gives and he never asks Stiles to stop needing, never tells Stiles no.

“I just…” He’s fidgeting now, his hands shaking as his fingers trace the lines of Derek’s body. “There’s one last thing.” He won’t lie, he’s been thinking about it for ages.

He’s making it clear enough, pushing himself impossibly closer to Derek, taking in the searing warmth. Their kisses had grown softer but he nipped playfully at Derek’s lip before slowly pushing forward with his tongue. They’re already laying bare and pressed together, and Stiles knows they can both feel it; their bodies responding, wanting.

His heart’s beating wildly in his chest. The noises from his throat are needy, pained. Derek responds with his own moaning and it drives Stiles’ crazy. Their hands are fumbling, grabbing, stroking, loving.

It’s everything that Stiles dreamed of and more.

It’s Derek whispering Stiles’ name, it’s Stiles reaching for what’s been stashed in their drawer for days, it’s Derek finally caving in, it’s Stiles letting Derek in, in ways they’ve never done before and it’s Derek – giving, and giving.

It’s like Derek at first, slow and patient. There’s a demand for steady and unhurried rhythm, motions gentle. Their lips don’t part, not even for breath, and the passion burns. Oh, it burns. And just as they are, it slowly becomes less like Derek and more like Stiles. They start losing their rhythm picking it up and dropping it, their movements becoming slowly more uncoordinated. Voices and noises are tumbling over each other and even though there’s no coordination and overwhelming lust, it’s absolutely beautiful.

There’s nothing either of them can say or do, nothing but lay face-to-face, chests heaving and bodies slick. Stiles, for once, has nothing to say.

The hours roll by in little breaks of silence, in sad smiles and Columbian roast coffee as they poke each other wake to watch the sun rise.

 

\-----

 

_00:1:02:14_

Stiles can barely stand still, and he’s never been more fidgety than he has now, despite the Adderall he’s taken. The fact that there’s a dull ache through his body doesn’t help – he feels like he’s subconsciously bumping into things to bring it back. To bring Derek back. He’s waiting for Derek to finish getting ready and grab everything he needs. He wanted to spend his last minutes with the people he cared most about – and that included the hope that Peter was at what was believed to be his girlfriend’s apartment downtown.

“Stiles, have you seen my briefcase?” he hears Derek shout from upstairs, followed by some thumping and a slam.

“It’s by the door, Der,” Stiles responds, his voice raspy because he knows what’s in that briefcase.

_It’s just formality, Stiles. You know as well as I do that I want things done right. My uncle may have my name, but everything I’ve done in Beacon Hills is for you._

He tries not to think about the will as Derek finally opens the door. Stiles notices the sadness in his eyes when he looks around the loft, but he smiles down at Stiles and closes the door one last time.

The drive alone takes a chunk of time out and Stiles tries his hardest not to look at his wrist.

_00:00:31:52_

Eventually, Derek just takes his hand and intertwines their fingers. Stiles lets out a huff when Derek doesn’t give his hand back, but he gets told to ‘just breathe, Stiles’, so he tries.

The apartment looks immaculate on the outside, with evenly trimmed hedges leading to a sliding glass door. Stiles can see the sleek black granite lobby and he sees that Derek is nervous – nervous enough to not hop out of the car.

“Hey, I’m right here, okay? Just text me if you need me,” Stiles tried to reassure Derek.

Derek gulped nervously. “I’ll be right back.” After pulling Stiles in for a quick kiss, he grabbed his briefcase and finally stepped out of the car. With one more glance at Stiles (who in turn gave a reassuring wave), he headed toward the apartment. He scanned the directory before dialing a few buttons. Stiles watched nervously as Derek waited. His lips parted to speak, and the door slid open to let him in. He watched Derek walk away, out of sight.

_00:00:26:43_

Stiles was studying every detail about the neighbourhood to keep himself from worrying to _death_ , because at this point he thought it was possible.  Unfortunately it’s a quiet neighbourhood and nothing really happens, except the one car that drives by. It captures Stiles’ attention, and he catches a brief glimpse of the lone driver, who turns out to be a blonde woman, dressed in what looks to be black business clothes. She’s wearing a scowl so rigid, Stiles is unsure if she’d ever smiled before in her life. The neighbourhood feels oddly cold and unfriendly, Stiles thinks.  

 

From: **Derek  
** _My uncle wants to meet you, come upstairs? Buzzer’s  856_

To: **Derek  
** _Be right there!_

He’s not exactly nervous because he trusts Derek, and he’s happy for him. Finding his uncle was difficult, he had gone from the coffee shop to supermarkets to banks to post offices. It took a lot of convincing and phone calls, but he finally found that Peter had moved in with a young woman he had met before the fire, and he went through the whole process of talking to strangers inquiring about _her._

The buzzer hardly rings and the door opens immediately. Stiles follows Derek’s instructions to go to the third floor and find the unit. He doesn’t even get to knock before Derek swoops him inside.

“Uncle, this is my soul mate, Stiles.”

Stiles sticks his hand out, but receives a glare instead.

“Interesting, dear nephew, that you neglected to mention your soul mate was a young man,” Peter drawls, his voice just as cold to match those icy blue eyes, though he moves closer to investigate Stiles.

Immediately, Stiles feels uncomfortable, and by the way Derek is tensing and standing up taller, he can feel a showdown coming on.

“Why,” Derek all but growls. “Does that bother you in some way?”

Stiles hasn’t seen Derek _quite_ this aggressive, and he shrinks back to let the two alpha males go at it.  Derek’s arranging himself closer to Stiles, like he’s guarding his mate.

“You know our family has been very traditional, Derek, I’m just… surprised.”

“You know we don’t have control over this,” he says with a pointed show of his bare wrist where the countdown had been.

“No, I suppose not,” Peter says calmly. He turns to Stiles. “Excuse me just a moment, I have to make a phone call.”

When Peter disappears, Stiles turns to Derek. “Erm, I don’t think he likes me much.”

Derek just sighs. “I’m so sorry, Stiles. This is now how I imagined this going, I just –”

“I wonder what my dear sister would have thought of this,” Peter interrupts, eyes still trained on Stiles.

“My mother would have accepted it with open arms,” Derek snaps.

“You reject your family’s traditions for a boy you’ve met through some numbers!” Peter yells back. “Your family, who has been with you from your first breath, who has lost and suffered so much… For a boy not yet even in manhood,” he adds bitterly. 

“Forget it, we’re leaving,” Derek says, gathering his things. “Forget about this,” he says with a pointed wave at the documents. “I thought finding you was supposed to be relieving, to bring closure to what happened to our family. I thought we could connect somehow… Being the only ones.”

“My dear nephew –”

“Stop calling me that,” Derek spat. “Family was everything to me. My parents taught me to accept and love, and you’ve done nothing but disgrace the family name with your prejudice. Goodbye, _Peter_.”

Stiles was surprised when Derek lifted his briefcase and shepherded Stiles out of the unit without a hitch – his uncle wasn’t even going to try to stop him?

“Der, I’m sorry,” he mumbled on the elevator ride down.

“No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I had no idea Peter would react that way… My family – if they were alive today, they never would have treated you that way.”

They headed back to the car.

“Where to now?” Derek asked, pulling out of the neighbourhood.

_00:00:06:21_

Stiles gulped. “Anywhere but here.” He knew it wasn’t an answer, but he let Derek drive away, toward the beach.

_00:00:01:12_

“Derek, pull over!” Stiles screeched. Derek slammed the brakes, swerving off to the side of the road. They were close enough to the boardwalk that it was mainly free parking, but Derek turned to look at Stiles in shock.

“Are you okay?”

“I need –” Stiles didn’t finish, he opened the car door and flew out. He stumbled onto the sand, knees giving out beneath him until he collapsed. He heard the rush of Derek’s footsteps and the feeling of Derek sinking to the ground next to him.

“Derek, I –” his protest was cut off by a chaste kiss.

“Stiles, I’m just glad I met you and that I’ve shared these last months with you. You mean more to me than you’ll ever know.”

The world was frozen still – it must have been – Stiles thought. He looked down at his wrist.

_00:01:03:56_

Stiles eyes widened in disbelief. “Derek?”

“I… I don’t understand,” he murmured, assuring Stiles he wasn’t seeing things. 

“How –” he looked back at the Camaro. “Wait a minute.”

Derek peered curiously as Stiles ducked to check underneath the car. After all his trips to the mechanical shop for repairs on his jeep, he had learned a thing or two.

“Derek, look at this – something’s been… cut.”

He stood up to see the look on Derek’s face.

“Stiles…” Derek said, lifting the sleeve above his own wrist. Side-by-side to Stiles, the numbers matched up perfectly, counting in sync.

They left the rest hanging. Someone had been after Derek, which had put Stiles in danger too.

“I think we should call your dad.”

“Yes. Yes, that’s a good idea,” Stiles agreed, quickly pulling out his phone.

 

\-----

 

After the sheriff had picked them up, the timers had changed once again. Derek’s wrist was bare again, but Stiles still read: _00:01:04:19._

This didn’t make any sense at all.

“We’ll put you in protective custody, at the station. You can spend the night, and we’ll put up guards.”

“But –”

“It’s where he’s safest, if someone is after him,” the sheriff pointed out.

“BUT –”

“Stiles, your father is right,” Derek intervened in a soothing voice. “I don’t want you there in case something _does_ happen, and I feel safe under the department’s watch.”

"And what happens after the night, hmm? What happens when the 24 hour protection is up?”

“Then the sheriff will provide protection,” his father said. Stiles knew he meant well, he just couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

“Derek,” Stiles turned to plead with his mate. “Someone’s after you in Beacon Hills. You should… Move back to New York, I’m almost positive you’ll be safe.”

Derek looked at Stiles. He knew Stiles was right. He nodded slowly. “You can come visit,” he said softly.

“Yeah, and we’ll figure it all out once your safe. I’ll… I’ll Skype you all the time and… Maybe I can go to college there.”

His dad was eerily quiet in the front seat, and Stiles knew he was in for a long talk at some point, but that didn’t matter.

“Cross that bridge when we get there,” Derek repeated to him. The optimism almost Stiles laugh, but he could see his dad’s shoulders ease.

“Okay?” Derek nudged him.

“Okay.”

  

\-----

 

Stiles had a hard time sleeping, even though Derek had sounded sure. Leaving him at the station was one of the hardest things he’d had to do as of late. He wondered if Derek was comfortable in that dark, cold room. The cots were small, and Stiles knew there was probably a draft.

“ _It’s for the best. I’ll see you tomorrow, Stiles.”_

But Stiles could feel something in his gut – _this isn’t right_. Still, with pulling the all-nighters in the lead up to what was going to be Derek’s last day, exhaustion tugged at him.

 

_00:01:01:43_

 

_00:01:01:42_

 

_00:01:01:41_

 

_00:01:01:40_

 

_00:01:01:39_

Counting the numbers, Stiles drifted off to sleep.

 

\-----

 

“Stiles!”

Stiles tumbled from his bed in a tangle of sheets and limbs as he realized his dad was gripping his shoulders to wake him.

“Dad?” he asked groggily. “Wasswrong?”

“Stiles… It’s Derek.” The tone his father was using was discouraging enough.

It was almost inhuman how quickly Stiles woke – he practically flew out of the house, still in his pajamas, with his jeep keys in hand.

“Stiles!” his dad shouted, running off after him. He barely made it into the passenger seat of his son’s jeep before it tore out of the driveway.

Scrambling to close the passenger door before it tore into a mailbox, he stared at his son, who he’d never seen so rushed (which was saying something). The comment he was about to make on his son’s speeding died in his throat when he saw the way Stiles’ jaw was clenched shut and his eyes were nearly unblinking, despite the growing tears. And so, he became the cop that let his son commit every speeding and traffic violation known to man, clutching to his seat for dear life.

Kara, who had taken the night shift, came out to meet then, evidently hearing the screeching of the jeep’s tires.

Stiles would apologize later for pushing past her, really, he would, but there was a buzzing in his head that drowned out the voices of everyone around him.

“Stiles,” his dad said, placing a firm hand on his son’s shoulder.

There were more deputies than normal, all bustling about. There were voices – lots of voices – but none of them were Derek’s. He walked along the corridor to the holding cells, several people trying to stop him.

“Dad!” he yelled I frustration as a particularly burly deputy held onto his arm. They struggled hard enough that Stiles knew there’d be a bruise. For his 150-pound frame, fending off the large man was quite the feat.

“Stiles, you’re not going anywhere until you calm down. Listen to me, or else you’re staying in the foyer,” his dad said sternly, though he signaled to his deputy that he’d take it from here. “Breathe, Stiles.”

Honestly, that was probably the hardest thing Stiles could do. The scene was an absolutely nightmare. The holding cell had blood spatter on its off-white walls with two dark red pools on the bed and floor. They had barely made progress on processing the crime scene, an officer was telling him not to contaminate the crime scene, others were jostling him to move in and out of the area – but Stiles couldn’t move. The emptiness of the holding cell, the startling red of the blood – it all amounted the loss of Derek. Stiles let out a gut-wrenching cry, his body revolting and giving out. Sinking to his knees, throat raw from screaming, Stiles turned to his dad with bleary tear-filled eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Stiles,” he whispered into Stiles’ ear, collecting his son’s heaving body from the ground.

 

\-----

 

“That’s it, she missed one,” the sheriff said, in reference to one of the well-hidden cameras in the station, pointing to one of the frames on the screen. The camera read 3:44AM – long after Stiles had gone to sleep. The picture was a little grainy, but Stiles instantly jerked when they played the clip in slow motion.

“Stiles? What is it?”

“I… I’ve seen her,” he managed. “I saw her when Derek and I went to visit his uncle!”

“You _what?_ ”

There’s a long pause as the deputy looks back and forth between the sheriff (staring at Stiles) and Stiles (staring at the screen) and the woman on the screen (staring at the holding cells).

“Sir, we’ll have to question him,” he tells his boss. “You might have seen our murderer,” he says, attention this time on the boy, still staring at the woman, mouth hanging open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The epilogue is coming! <3


	3. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DOESN'T EVERYTHING JUST MAKE ALL THE SENSE NOW  
> ODSAFUO(W$IRO#IRQWEAS

Stiles and his dad put it all together. It takes a lot of contact between the building and the family lawyers, but the Stilinskis look at the board in front of them one last time, so the sheriff can write up the official report. He’s made the arrest for both Peter and his girlfriend, Katherine Argent. Chris had come in to the police station to identify her the moment her video footage was shown to the press. She was supposed to be in France, living with a boyfriend, he said. It was obvious that the family ties had been severed.

“Peter meets Kate when they both went to school in Beacon Hills. He learns about his family’s insurance plan and gets Kate on board. Somehow, they learn to make it look like an accidental fire, caused by faulty electrical wiring. He puts himself in harm’s way to throw suspicion, but overdoes it. It seems the insurance for the fire was split between the surviving family members in well enough conditions,” the sheriff says, pointing to their first point on the board, following the red string with his finger to the next.

“Laura and Derek,” Stiles says softly, his heart lurching at the sound of Derek’s name coming from his lips. It still aches, it still makes him cry out in rage.

“Peter got a partial amount, to cover his medical bills for physiotherapy and a small fund set aside to help him re-integrate after treatment.”

“But that wasn’t enough for him,” Stiles spat bitterly.

“He gets mad that his plan didn’t go according to plan. So he gets in touch with the lawyers after he’s released and realizes that Laura is the beneficiary for Derek’s insurance and vice versa.”

“So he kills Laura,” Stiles finishes. He feels sick to his stomach, because how sick do you have to be to order a hit on your own family?

“He knows he can be linked to it, so he gets help from Kate again, promises this will be the big score. He makes sure he’s seen on half a dozen cameras the night Laura goes missing, making sure not to use his own ca. He gets Kate to kidnap her and meet him out in the woods where nobody can see them.”

“So Derek gets the money from Laura’s insurance.”

“Right. So he makes himself easy to find for Derek to come to him, warming up to him.”

“Derek… He was going to help Peter. He went over there on his last day with his will and all the papers in hand. He was going to get Peter to sign!” Stiles burst out. Deep down, he knows there’s a pool of guilt, bubbling in stomach like acid.

“And then they got into a fight, and Peter once again has his plans foiled.”

“It’s all my fault, dad,” Stiles croaks. “If I hadn’t been there, none of this would have happened. Peter and Kate could have their stupid money, and Derek would still be here.”

“Kid, listen to me,” his dad says in that stern-but-soft voice. “None of this is your fault. Peter wasn’t going to stop. Even if Derek offered to include him in the will, Peter would have planned this anyway because he knows the insurance payout is worth way more. There’s no rhyme or reason to these people, Stiles. So you can’t go around thinking you could have stopped these psychopaths.”

“All for some stupid money,” Stiles said bitterly. He hated Peter and Kate. The town had actually rallied for them to both receive death sentences, but it turned out Kate was going to be extradited to France, where was wanted on fraud and illegal arms dealing. Peter was going to serve life in jail, but the very thought of him still breathing while Derek was buried in the cemetery made Stiles beyond angry.

“Son, we couldn’t have done it without you. You helped piece this all together and because of you, Derek’s killer is behind bars and you solved the Hale fire case. Derek would have been proud of you, and thankful.”

Stiles sobs quietly as his dad rubs his back to soothe him.

 

\-----

 

It’s been two weeks since Derek’s death, and Stiles hasn’t left his room. He’s thankful it’s summer and there’s no school, no pressing obligations. He barely eats when his dad brings him food, and his nights have been torn apart by nightmares.

Sometimes he sees Derek in his dreams, when he was bright-eyed and full of life, taking Stiles on new adventures. But, more often than not, he dreams of Derek, pale and lifeless in the morgue. His dad warned him not to go down that path, because it wasn’t a memory he wanted to see, but he never had a chance to say goodbye. Not properly. The cloth was pulled to his neck, to hide the chest wound, but Stiles is concentrated on Derek’s face – the way his eyes are closed and how they won’t open again. He tried to picture the colour of Derek’s eyes but it was all green and hazels and amber and sunlight swimming together until he felt he couldn’t breathe anymore. His dad escorted him outside, where he had thrown up on the sidewalk.

Sometimes he sees Derek in his coffin, handsome as always in one of his best suits. It was a small affair, with Stiles and his dad, Scott, and the Argents, who apologized to Stiles more times than he could count. His other friends from school who had hung out with him and Derek were there, expressions and hugs saying everything for them. He didn’t make it halfway through his eulogy before Lydia gingerly walked up to hold Stiles up, and read the rest of it.

Sometimes he dreams of Peter’s cold blue eyes and Kate Argent’s mocking voice from the court date. Like hell they were sorry.

His dad has rushed into Stiles’ bedroom in the middle of the night more times than he can count. His son’s screams haunt him throughout the day, into the darkness, into his own sleep.

The aching just never stopped. His friends had given him time to mourn but their concern led to badgering him to get outside, to eat, to breathe fresh air at least. He wasn’t convinced any of it was important. Scott had visited almost every day, only to be turned away. Today wasn’t supposed to be any different. He didn’t feel any better, and the blaring lack of Derek in his life still jammed an icepick through his heart. 

“Stiles!”

He’ll give it to Scott, what he lacks in acting skill, he makes up for in earnest effort. Scott’s tried to bribe him with a game, with dessert, threaten him, blackmail him, plead with him, pretended to cry – the works. Stiles admits that Scott sounds a little more realistic than usual.

“Scott, for the last time –“

“Please, it’s an emergency!” Scott shouts. “I need you, man!”

Stiles’ mind is numb. He hates that he’s been dead to his friends. He knows they’re only trying to help, but didn’t they get it? How was he supposed to be a good friend to them if he was like this – if his head was constantly buzzing or throbbing with a dull pain, if his body was feeling too weak to move, if he couldn’t think of anything besides Derek and Peter and Kate?

He hears the door rattling and before he can do anything, his doorknob simply falls off.

“Scott, what the f –” he begins to say as his door swings open. The other half of his doorknob falls with a _thump_ from Scott’s hand – which is _trembling_ in a way Stiles has never seen.

“Scotty?” he says quietly, suddenly scared. There’s a look on Scott’s face that Stiles can’t quite decipher. Scott’s _shaking_ , he’s pacing furiously and gasping for breath. He recognizes the asthma attack Scott’s hitting and quickly finds the spare inhaler that keeps for Scott.

“Dude, breathe, come on,” he says. “Is it… Allison?” he guesses.

His mind temporary leaves Derek when his friend’s body are overwhelmed with violent sobs.

“Stiles –” Scott can’t force out the rest, but he doesn’t need to. He just shoves his wrist in front of Stiles’ face.

 

_86:13:40:25_

_86:13:40:24_

_86:13:40:23_

 

_86:13:40:22_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANKS TO EVERYONE FOR THE SUPPORT, KUDOS, FEEDBACK. It's been a hell of a ride, and I'm currently working on a Coffee Shop AU and a Percy Jackson AU so if either of those interest you, come hang out on Tumblr or something ~ 
> 
> :3

**Author's Note:**

> Would love to hear from you! <3 
> 
> Come drop by [sterek--smut](http://sterek--smut.tumblr.com) if you'd like <3
> 
> P.S. Please don't bother commenting regarding a "missing Major Character Death" tag. It's been an Archive Warning (NOT additonal tag) since DAY ONE. If you've skimmed over it, then please don't take that out on me. Feedback on the actual content of the story is much appreciated, but if you're going to be a Sour Wolf then please refrain. You're wearing me out when I've just joined the fandom and I've already gotten tired of having to explain to people that I did, in fact, use the appropriate warning.


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